Mink can see him, see how the tip turns and swells with blood, how his cock judders with each rough thrust and inches a little higher, soon pressing against his belly. And quick as he's being, close as he's already getting himself, seeing Akira stifling sounds that aren't just pain is enough to make him slow his motions down, coming to a near-stop. In the end, who's just barely moving himself, scraping himself back and forth over Akira's insides, and he catches his breath unsteadily. Breathes out hard through his nose.
Mink palms at his dick. He turns him and grips his flesh firm in his fingers, squeezes hard and slides it down, pulling his foreskin down, rolling it back up again.
He really does like to suffer. Even in a humiliating situation like this, where any man would only feel agony, he's getting hard, making pathetic noises that make Mink's cock pulse inside his ass. He touches Akira's hand with his own, peeling it away from his mouth while he strokes him, and resumes those quick, sharp little thrusts into his ass.
"Do you like smelling your own blood?" Planting Akira's hand on the floor, Mink leans close, breathes the scent of Akira's hair while he rolls his hips into him, snapping deep inside him again, and again, until his own precum is marching down the cleft of Akira's ass, onto the floor.
"Do you like feeling powerless when a man fucks you? Do you like where my cock touches you?" They aren't questions asked to be answered. But they're doing something for Mink, at least, if that wet sound of his thrusts is any indication, if the slight ragged edge to his voice is anything to go by.
"Are these better questions for you. Are they easier to answer."
It's too bad he already knows what the answer would be.
He lets go of his cock to strike him with the back of his hand again, leaves a streak of Akira's own damp fluid across his face — and he grips his jaw in his hand, forces his eyes onto him, squeezing tightly.
"I could make your life hard for you over nothing, if that's how you want to play me. You won't take much of my time; you're not made to play these games and win." His voice is tinged by the faintest, nastiest smile. "... You obviously prefer to lose.
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Mink can see him, see how the tip turns and swells with blood, how his cock judders with each rough thrust and inches a little higher, soon pressing against his belly. And quick as he's being, close as he's already getting himself, seeing Akira stifling sounds that aren't just pain is enough to make him slow his motions down, coming to a near-stop. In the end, who's just barely moving himself, scraping himself back and forth over Akira's insides, and he catches his breath unsteadily. Breathes out hard through his nose.
Mink palms at his dick. He turns him and grips his flesh firm in his fingers, squeezes hard and slides it down, pulling his foreskin down, rolling it back up again.
He really does like to suffer. Even in a humiliating situation like this, where any man would only feel agony, he's getting hard, making pathetic noises that make Mink's cock pulse inside his ass. He touches Akira's hand with his own, peeling it away from his mouth while he strokes him, and resumes those quick, sharp little thrusts into his ass.
"Do you like smelling your own blood?" Planting Akira's hand on the floor, Mink leans close, breathes the scent of Akira's hair while he rolls his hips into him, snapping deep inside him again, and again, until his own precum is marching down the cleft of Akira's ass, onto the floor.
"Do you like feeling powerless when a man fucks you? Do you like where my cock touches you?" They aren't questions asked to be answered. But they're doing something for Mink, at least, if that wet sound of his thrusts is any indication, if the slight ragged edge to his voice is anything to go by.
"Are these better questions for you. Are they easier to answer."
It's too bad he already knows what the answer would be.
He lets go of his cock to strike him with the back of his hand again, leaves a streak of Akira's own damp fluid across his face — and he grips his jaw in his hand, forces his eyes onto him, squeezing tightly.
"I could make your life hard for you over nothing, if that's how you want to play me. You won't take much of my time; you're not made to play these games and win." His voice is tinged by the faintest, nastiest smile. "... You obviously prefer to lose.
"I'm asking you again, Akira. Who is Keisuke."